


Fallen

by orionreece



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Cannibalism, Dark Will Graham, Fallen Angels, Is it cannibalism if he's an angel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionreece/pseuds/orionreece
Summary: Will's life began when he fell from heaven. The first time he spilled his brothers blood, the first time he avenged something unjust. And the next. And the next. Until he was found out, and cast from heaven. White wings scorched black, Hannibal Lecter found him.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 50





	Fallen

It was a quiet evening. No dinner party, no errands to run, no meat to collect. Hannibal basked in this rare solitude as he chopped fresh parsley for the hearty stew he was making. He had started the meal this morning, allowing it to simmer throughout the day. The  cut of steak from the chuck, or shoulder of the animal, was sure to be very tender now. 

The Argentinian Malbec wine’s aroma floated in the air, teasing his sense of smell all day with the promise of this meal. While it is extremely popular, Argentinian Malbec is a dry red wine with strong impressions of dark fruits on the nose and palate. This wine tends to have mellower tannins than its French counterpart. The dryness of the wine will go wonderfully with the salt and garlic cooked into the meat. 

He spent a long moment plating his meal, delicately sprinkling the parsley on top with a satisfied smile. Just as he was about to sit down, however, something bright caught his eye through the kitchen window. He slowly pushed in the chair and moved the curtain aside, curious eyes gazing into the night sky. It seemed like a meteor. But it got closer, and closer, until it soared over the top of the forest just outside of Baltimore. Hannibal could see smoke from the trees being singed. 

Hannibal stood very still, watching the light fade until finally, he felt the ground shake under his feet. It had hit the ground. In seconds he had made his decision. He carefully covered the made plate and set it in the fridge before donning his jacket. In minutes, he was in his bently, driving towards where he had estimated that the object had landed. 

It amused him to theorize the possibilities of this event. Was it just a normal meteor? If so, it would be an impressive souvenir to keep. What if it was something else though? Something unknown. It made Hannibal’s curiosity flare to life, as bright as the fallen object. 

Finally, after nearly thirty minutes of driving, he reached the edge of the forest. He carefully parked his car and got out, locking it behind him. His leather gloves creaked softly as he pulled them over his hands, to ward off the stiffness the cold would bring. The thick layer of untouched snow muffled his surroundings. His foot steps barely made noise at all. 

Hannibal followed the smell of smoke and burnt tree tops for a long while. So long that, despite the gloves and winter clothing, the cold began to seep into him. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Too familiar in the worst of ways. Just when he was beginning to think he should return home, he saw it. The trail in the snow indicating that something had crashed. The snow there was nearly melted, but still intact. The high temperature must have lowered. 

There were traces of something Hannibal couldn’t identify in the snow. It was somehow brighter and whiter than the freshly fallen snow itself. This substance nearly glowed. It was clearly a liquid, but that was the only thing Hannibal could discern from it.

He slowed his footsteps as he followed the trail. There was a scent in the air. Sharp, almost like the warning of lightning just before it cracked across the sky. How unusual. Hannibal’s breath turned white in the cold air, dissipating as he took another breath that seared his lungs. Slow step after step, Hannibal came across the object. Only, it wasn’t an object at all. 

A man laid in the snow. Skin wet from melting snowflakes. He was completely naked, curled in on himself protectively. The same substance seemed to be leaking from his injuries. His black curls were a mess, and his clean shaven face was shocking to see. He looked like no one Hannibal had ever seen before. Something about his features called forth the predator within him. A warning. This man was dangerous. 

But these aren’t what caught Hannibal’s complete focus. No, that was the enormous wings attached to his back. The feathers were ebony black, covered in soot and burned around the edges. Some feathers were completely singed away. They laid behind him at an awkward angle, twisted and weak. After a moment of wonderful shock, Hannibal understood. A fallen angel. 

At that moment, the man sucked in a lungful of air and sputtered, coughing as he tried to sit up, strong hands digging into the snow as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Then his very blue eyes fixed on Hannibal. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he struggled to stand. 

“I would not attempt that so soon, if I were you.” Hannibal spoke, watching as pain flashed across this man’s devastating features. The man sneered at him, ignoring his warning. Impressively, he managed to get on his feet. His very bare feet. The cold must not affect him. 

It was going well until the man tried to roll his shoulders. He gasped, freezing, as the pain washed over him. He seemed almost confused. He stared at the ground for a moment, before reluctantly craning his neck to look at his wings. 

“ _ Oh _ .” Like the breath was stolen from his lungs. This was a moment of realization. They must be different than what he had had before, Hannibal mused. The man tried to move a wing, and suddenly his knees buckled and hit the ground hard. 

“Maybe you were right…” He whispered, eyes unfocusing, before falling face forward in the snow, unconscious. 

It was far more difficult carrying an unconscious person when they had what must have been a hundred pounds of extra muscle attached to them. It took Hannibal far longer than he thought it would, to pick him up and adjust him so he was easy to carry. He settled on the fireman's carry. The trek back was twice as long. A sheen of sweat unbecoming of him glazed his skin, making it shine and forcing his body to shiver. No matter, he had already reached his car before it could do any damage. 

Hannibal carefully laid the man down in the back seat, on his side, facing the seat. It allowed his wings a little room. Each movement made soor and ash rain down on the inside of his car. The substance, which Hannibal assumed was some sort of blood, smeared against the leather seat. While feeling a certain amount of distaste, he found that the challenge and shock this event had bestowed on him had more than made up for it. 

The man was still the entire drive home. His chest barely moved, only the slightest movement giving away that he was breathing. The blood stopped flowing from the scrapes covering his body. It was hard to tell beneath the mess, but Hannibal was certain there was a stab wound on the man’s shoulder. His eyes kept straying to the rearview mirror every couple of minutes. 

It was difficult to carry the man inside, but once he was in Hannibal had little trouble depositing him in a guest bed. Luckily there was a top cover to protect the bedding. Over the course of the next few hours, Hannibal cleaned him up. He wiped away the strange blood, washed off the dirt and ice, and dressed him in a pair of silk boxers he wasn’t particularly fond of. He only left to retrieve his meal, a book, and his tablet before returning and settling down in the chair beside the bed. 

The man didn’t wake until three weeks later. 


End file.
